Stars on Sunset Blvd
by Raquel Aratsume
Summary: They're famous. Beautiful. Rich. And...more dramatic and crazy than ever. Peek into the lives of Devon Dubron, actress and tabloid hater, Bethany, an upcoming Cuban singer, and other Hollywood starlets who wow and surprise everyone they meet.


**Devon**

All I wanted to do was curl up by the fireplace in our luxe Beverly Hills villa and read the latest Cosmo magazine, but Imogen had other plans for me that night. "Dev!" She cried, her platinum blonde hair spilling out of its sloppy bun. "I told Eddie we'd all go to Rojo, that new resturant on Santa Monica. Get dressed, lazy girl!"

"Mom, I really don't want to-"

"Too late. You should've said something earlier, missy!" Imogen squeaked, hustling back into her room before I could protest further.

"Mom!" I cried again, but it was useless. I had to go with her and her boyfriend to the stupid Rojo. My iPhone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see the screen brightly lit with a text from Beth. **Tommorrow do u want 2 head 2 the blvd 2 shop? dani needs a prom dress ;D**

**sure** I replied.** sounds fun! **

I slowly managed my way upstairs to my bedroom, rummaging through my walk in closet for something to wear. I plucked a tight gray sleeveless mini out and paired it with a white leather jacket and white 4-inch pumps. Imogen walked in casually on me, claiming she needed "a cute dress" to wear. All of my clothes looked way too small on her, and she knew it, but still chose to wear my clothes, probably to impress Eddie.

On the drive to the resturant, all Imogen could talk about was how excited Eddie was that Juicy worked out for me, and how happy she was that they were together and...wait, she'd just said they were thinking of getting engaged?

"Like he could even afford the ring." I sniffed, staring out the window.

"Devon! Like I'd go for some poor man. And besides, its not about the money. Its about the love."

My money that would probably be paying for their wedding. "No Mom, don't get married." I said simply, and was silent for the rest of the ride. Eddie, with his slicked back greasy hair and horrible Jersey accent, fake gold chains, and two gold teeth, disgusted me. He was horrible.

**Bethany**

Humming 's _Papi_ I jogged along the sidewalk that lined our picture perfect neighborhood, my Nike's smacking against the pavement as I jogged. Danise called out to me from the front porch, but I ignored her gleefully, my twin's sharp cries fading away as we grew further apart. Her emo-cut blond and pink hair flew in the wind where she stood, her flaked gold and blue eyes squinting in the warm L.A sun.

We were nothing alike, but best friends all the same. She went goth-ish when we were 10, her choosing black over our both loved yellow driving me nuts for the first few years, but we learned to get over it. Now I was singing about boyfriends never had and being my crazy Cuban self, and she was living my songs, her heart ripped out and torn then to be replaced by another heartfelt guy.

Right now she was with Trey, a tall lanky guitar-playing cutie who suited her taste at the moment, loveable and sweet. Next she'd want hot and gorgeous. Her tastes changed like the tides, and I expected her to have at least 3 husbands by the time we were 35, but who cared? She was my sister, after all. I stopped near the edge of the neighborhood that ended at the tennis courts and country club, sucking in deep breaths. Before I'd left I'd texted Dev about going shopping tomorrow, and my phone buzzed with her reply. **sure! sounds fun! **

**Gr8** I texted back. **whatcha up to?**

**heading 2 rojo's w/ mom & eddie. D:** She replied.

**Good luck! **I responded, and put my phone back into my pocket. I started to jog again, and this time turned back around to head home. Danise was no longer standing; now she was on the phone sitting in a rocking chair on the porch.

"Trey? Baby?" Her voice cracked as she spoke his name into the receiver. "Baby?"

I climbed up the steps, glancing at her every now and then to be sure she wasn't crying.

"Danise?" I murmured, touching her shoulder gently. She shook me off of her, saying she didn't need comforting. I nodded and entered the house, the air conditioning blowing smoothly at my sweaty body. "Mama!"

"_Sí, hija? Que tal_?" Yes, daughter? What's up? My mother called from upstairs, her Spanish floating down the steps.

"Just checking if you were home." I laughed, pouring myself a glass of lemonade. "What are you doing?"

"_Mi quehaceres_." She replied. Her chores?

"_Que?_" What? "_No entiendo_." I called up to her. I didn't understand. I groaned and trudged upstairs.

"Mama, you don't _have_ any chores. Remember, Miss Felicia cleans the house for us now?" We'd hired a maid last week, as was custom of the rich and famous, but she always seemed to forget.

"Oh si, I remember now." Mama murmured, unplugging the vacuum. "Oh, sweetie, Senorita Jenkins called about _Juicy_."

"About what?" I asked. I wasn't in the movie, Dev was. "Devon's in that, not me."

"The premiere, _hija_." She clucked. "She says it'd be good if you went."

I nodded, and dug my phone out of my pocket. "I'll give her a call on my cell. _Gracias_, Mama."

I skipped to my large, airy bedroom, plopping myself onto my Queen-sized bed. It was huge compared to my twin bed back in Havana. I dialed her number quickly, hating the squeaky dial tone.

"Hey, Lucy, it's Bethany-" I began, but was barely able to begin before she'd picked up.

"Beth, dear! Did your mother tell you about the premiere?"

"Yes, she did. I think it'd be great for me, and it'd promote the music."

"Exactly what I thought!" She laughed. "And you'd get to hang out with Devon…although you know I'm a bit worried about how the tabloids will take it."

"Dev's not a bad person." I frowned into the phone although she couldn't see my expression.

"I know, I know, I'm just thinking of your image, Bethany. You know my job is to protect you as my client."

"Yeah. Oh, are you busy tomorrow?"

"No, why?"

"Do you want to go to Carlo's with me and Devon? You can bring your boyfriend, too, if you want." I giggled into the phone childishly.

"Hmm, I'll see honey. Talk to you later, Bethany."

"Bye, Lucy." I shut my phone off, and started back downstairs to watch _America's Next Top Model_.

**Devon**

Imogen stumbled into Rojo, her heels too high for dinner tonight. "Mom," I began warningly, but thought back on it. Let her fall and hurt herself. She was crazy, manipulative, and deceiving, a woman who only cared about herself, not me, her sixteen year old used-to-be alcoholic daughter. Eddie cooed at us both awkwardly, wrapping his meaty arms around Imogen and then planting a sloppy kiss on her puckered lips. I was officially disgusted.

"Devon!" He screeched, reaching towards me. "Sweetie, how've you been? You look fantastic."

I stepped away coolly, plastering a withered smile on my face. "Hi, Eddie. I'm fine, thanks." I managed to stick out my hand to him, which he shook gingerly, then sloppily kissed as well. I cringed, but Imogen smiled broadly, probably thinking, _What a gentleman he is!_ The exact opposite of my thoughts, which then were along the lines of, _What a creep this guy is!_

The hostess led us to a secluded back table so we wouldn't be disturbed, but I could see tourists and other diners peeking at us from behind their menus, as usual.

"What do you think you'll order, sweetie?" Imogen asked in a sweet voice.

"Probably the chicken-bacon quesadillas."

"Dev, dear, isn't that a bit fattening?" Eddie inquired, probably trying to sound like a father of some sort.

"_Excuse_ me?" I coughed, my eyes widening. Who did he think he was? "_Juicy _filming is done, and I look fine, thank you." I glowered silently, trying not to burst out on him. Eddie nodded slowly, and went back to whispering to my mother. I slid out my phone into my lap, and started texting Spy.

**Hey hun**I texted rapidly. **Miss you. What r u up 2 in Greece?**

**Nm :P **He replied. **I mis what's up w/ u?**

**At Rojo's w/mom & eddie. D: **

**Ew lol. Enjoy the fajitas **

**Rofl I will just 4 u ;) **

**Chicken & Bacon? **

**You bet! **I replied finally, and shut my phone off. The waitress arrived, her black mini a little too short, as if she'd grown out of it. Her teeny name tag read 'Em', and her loose platinum blond curls hung to her shoulders.

"Hello, and welcome to Rojo. I'm Emma, and I'll be your waitress. What can I get you to drink?"

"Eddie and I'll have some champagne, please." Imogen said quickly.

"I'll just take some Coke." I replied quietly, sinking into my chair. Imogen looked at me skeptically for a moment, then shrugged and struck up a conversation with Eddie.

"Darling," She began affectionately. "Did you decide on when you want to announce the news?"

The news. Oh great, she was going to drop the 'We're getting married!' bomb on me for what, the third time? "The news?" I said calmly, trying not to show my extreme anger.

"Oh yes, darling, remember what we were discussing earlier?" Imogen replied with a wink. I frowned slightly, remembering our talk in the car.

"Yes, I remember." I said solemnly, looking at the floor. "And I'm not exactly sure if it's the best idea yet."

"Devon, sweetheart, you're too young to understand these matters. Your mother and I are doing what's best for you, and if you haven't noticed already, we love each other and we love you!" Eddie chimed in enthusiastically.

"And you love _our_ money." I muttered.

"What was that, lovey?" Imogen asked suspiciously. I looked at her momentarily, taking in her new-found hated wrinkles near her eyes, and the frown lines deepening into her cheeks. Wow. She _was_ getting older. Smarter and wiser with a age, my butt.

"I didn't say anything, Mom. Maybe you're hearing things. It's a possible sign of…" I hesitated, trying not to pretend cry. "Old people syndrome."

Imogen's eyes widened hugely, and Eddie busted out laughing. "Baby, she's just being a silly teenager, that's all." Eddie chuckled.

"Sure she is." Imogen growled, furious at me for poking at her age. The waitress brought our drinks and set them on the table carefully, her nimble fingers balancing the tray gracefully.

"Do you know what you'd like to order?" She asked humbly.

"Yes, I'd like your chicken fajita salad please." Imogen replied crisply.

"I'll get your beef fajitas with guacamole, please."

"Ok, and for you, miss?" Emma nodded, motioning towards me.

"Chicken and bacon quesadillas please." I said dismissively. "Thank you."

"Alright, I'll be back in a moment."

"Devon!" Imogen hissed. "I cannot believe you ordered that. You'll be four pounds heavier by morning!"

"Oh hush." I spat, scowling. Why was she so intrusive? "It's not like I care what you eat."

"Well _I _care what you eat."

"Why?" I asked shortly. "Because my image is what pays for everything you have? Everything you want? Soon enough I'll be broke, and I haven't even spent the majority of my own cash, _you have_!"

Imogen stared at me for a moment, and then stood. "I need a smoke. We'll talk about this later, Devon."

"No, we can talk about this now." I replied gruffly, my voice cracking at the end. I followed her outside, our heels click-clacking against the tile floor.

"Why do you always embarrass me like that?" Imogen sighed, sweeping back her platinum blond hair. "In front of Eddie especially."

"Embarrass _you_?" I laughed sarcastically. "You embarrass _me_. With your tan wannabe boyfriend who's ruining my career, your too short skirts, acting like you're my age! And when you spend all my money! When I'm sick and you don't even care? That's embarrassing. To have a mother who doesn't care a bit about me, just my money. Maybe I'll go stay with dad for a while. At least I _know_ his wife."

"Devon, don't even get me started on your father's wife."

"Sheniah is amazing. She's pretty, works for herself and earns her own money, is really caring, and loves me."

"She's just using your father." Imogen frowned, taking a puff of her cigarette.

"Like Eddie and all your other boyfriends use you? Like you use me?" I said tartly, turning away from her.

"Devon!"

"I'm going home. To my house. That I paid for."

"Devon Dubron." Imogen's tone turned scarily soft and quiet. "Please come back here."

Could I really do it? Keep walking away from all I ever knew? My crazy used-to-be famous mother was still my mother no matter what. But it would be great to start fresh with Dad and his wife, too. Maybe I could visit for a bit, see how they were doing, then come back to Mom. She needed me.

I spun around slowly, my lips turned downwards in a frown. "I'm heading home. You enjoy your dinner." The words flooded out of my mouth like a waterfall, my intentions to not hurt Imogen at all.

"Ok. Record _True Bloods_ for me?" She asked, quietly. I nodded, and dialed our chauffeur's number.

"Miss Dubron? Would you like me to come and get you?" David's deep voice asked politely.

"Yes, thank you , David. I'm at Rojo's."

"Is your mother coming home as well?"

"No, just me. She's driving herself home."

"Alright, I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay. Thanks, David." I repeated, and hung up. I leaned against the stucco building, a tear sliding down my cheek. Why was it always like this? Me, being the adult, her being the naïve child who always made the same stupid mistakes. Wasn't that my job, as her child, to make mistakes for her to fix? We were completely switched. I was the parent, paying for our house, her extravagant parties, her too-tiny clothes and too-big wardrobe.

David pulled up in our white Bentley, rolling down the window part-way so I could see him. "Good evening, Miss Dubron. Ready to head home?"

"Yes." I replied, sighing as I entered the car. "Thanks again, David."

"It's no problem, Miss Dubron." He murmured, pulling away from the restaurant. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Huh?" I asked, not understanding.

"I mean, since you're leaving the restaurant early and all."

"No." I mumbled, shaking my head. "I just didn't feel comfortable there, that's all. And Imogen and I..."

David's eyebrows rose questioningly at this.

"We didn't agree on everything." My voice cracked momentarily, and I looked up at him with weary, tired eyes.

"I understand. Well if it's any concellation, mothers and daughters always fight, Miss Dubron."

"Not like Imogen and I." I mumbled, looking out into the brightly-lit street. Club signs flashed against the wavering darkness, neon colors illuminating the night.

David pulled into the villa's cobblestone driveway gracefully, parking the Bentley in it's usual place. "Good night, Miss Dubron." He called as I opened the door.

"Good night, David." I replied softly, and entered the empty house. Our housekeeper and cook were probably asleep already, so I threw my aching body and sore feet onto the couch for an hour of _Biggest Loser._

**Bethany**

Danise and I headed downtown for the evening, my skinny jeans tight, and her skirt short as Mama would allow. "Where do you want to head?" Danise asked, flicking her hair out of her eyes.

"I don't care." I shrugged in reply, my eyes flittering around me to see everything and take in everything.

"Mmkay." She murmured, leading me to a flashy no-name club with scantily dressed 6-ft blond models outside, apparently the bodyguards.

"Hey, welcome to Angelio's." One sighed in a deep voice. "You on the list?"

"No," Danise said before I could even answer. "But this is Bethany, _the_ Bethany Colon, the newest Cuban singer blowing the charts. I'm sure you've heard of her." Her cocky attitude wowed me, but didn't impress the girls.

"Sure, sweetie, whatever you say." Another girl sighed, leaning on the wall. "Go on in." Her voice dipped and swayed, her breath reeking of rum and too many cocktails.

"Thanks," I said to them, following Dani into the sparkly club. Retro green couches lined the walls, multi-colored strobe lights illuminating the stinky room. The dance floor lit up too, of course, as almost everything in L.A did. A few greasy-looking guys winked at us from the bar and the couches, and I, being my "young immature self" (as Danise would put it) tried to ignore them as best I could. Danise, on the other hand, blew them air-kisses and waltzed right over to them. Did I need to remind her she was _not_, I repeat, _not_ available?

I was a wallflower in a room of blooming, sweaty, skimpy daisies. I stepped over to the bar momentarily, asking politely for a drink of water that I knew was tainted with either brandy or other spirits. I chugged it, not caring about my "no alchohal policy". Why did my sister get to live it up and be a nobody, while I was under strict supervision while being famous? _Irony_. My new least-favorite word in Webster's. I tugged on my curly dark hair, twirling it and twisting it around my finger in an act of boredom. A tall tan guy sat beside me, his eyes glazed over in complete intoxication.

"Hey sweetie." He slurred, patting my cheek. I shook him off, yet he still grabbed at my hand. "Oh, sweetie, why you gotta be like that?"

I stood up carefully, and walked to the other side of the club, dodging grinders, jerkers, and party rockers on the dance floor. A few other people stayed to the couches and outer walls, some smoking, other making out, and some just standing boredly. One guy winked at me, his fluffy red hair messy, but his clothes expensive and chic. "Hey," He called to me, stepping to stand beside me. I smiled politely at him, murmuring a hello.

"Hi." I squeaked.

"Why so scared, little mouse?" He asked jokingly. I rolled my eyes at this, sweeping my hair out of my face again out of agitation.


End file.
